


the book of ice melting

by wrennette



Series: Westeros Rare Pairs [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (Elia's cool with it), Anal Sex, Because I can, Infidelity, Loss of Virginity, M/M, PWP, Smut, There's no plot here, Unbeta'd, acknowledged infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 13:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8374477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/pseuds/wrennette
Summary: In which quiet Eddard is the Stark to capture Rhaegar’s attention at Harrenhal.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is linked in a series with [A Prince's Pleasure](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7744645) which pairs Ned with Oberyn, but they take place in different universes / continuities - they're only thematically linked in that I like giving Ned some love and they're rather rare pairings.
> 
> title stolen from a photograph i saw once, but don't remember who took it, sorry :(

Eddard Stark, called Ned, sighed quietly in relief as he took in the cool night air. The Riverlands stretched vast and rolling beneath the massive ruined fortifications of Harrenhal. Off to the south, he could see the glistening waters of the Gods Eye. A dark mass on the horizon was the heavily timbered Isle of Faces, said to be forested entirely in weirwood trees. Rumour also said that the Children of the Forest could still be heard there, whispering among their sacred trees. Ned doubted that, although he wished to visit and see for himself. The Isle was a sacred place for those like him, who followed the old gods of the First Men. 

The whisper of fabric alerted Ned to another’s presence, and he turned, hand going to the dagger at his waist. Seeing silver blond hair washed even paler by moonlight, Ned immediately took a knee, his heart racing at the terrifying realization that he’d almost drawn steel on his future king.

“Your Grace,” Ned greeted the Crown Prince, keeping his head bowed and eyes down. Well polished boots of finest leather entered Ned’s vision. 

“Lord Stark, please,” Prince Rhaegar said, his voice soft and warm, and Ned blinked as a slender white hand entered his vision. Ned looked up, reaching out tentatively and placing his broader but just as pale hand in the Prince’s. The Prince’s hand was as calloused as that of any warrior, but elegant as well, the hands of an artist, Ned couldn’t help but thinking. “You are Eddard Stark, are you not? The Lord of Winterfell’s second son.”

“It is so your Grace,” Ned said with a flush. 

“You do not enjoy the dancing?” Rhaegar asked, his thumb slowly rubbing delicate circles against Ned’s hand. Ned flushed, not sure how to answer, or why the Prince still held his hand. Ned had never seen anyone so beautiful as Prince Rhaegar up close, and the Prince’s beauty stilled Ned’s already reticent tongue. Rhaegar raised his other hand, gently stroking the ridge of Ned’s heated cheek. Ned’s eyes fell closed in embarrassment even as he swayed into the touch. “They call you the quiet wolf,” Rhaegar noted softly.

“They do,” Ned was finally able to reply. 

“Ah, you do speak then,” Rhaegar said warmly, and Ned would have thought it impossible to flush any more deeply than he already was, but the gentle tease proved him wrong. 

“Your Grace,” Ned breathed. 

“Shh,” Rhaegar murmured, and then slotted his mouth against Ned’s. Ned stood still as stone for a moment before melting against the Prince. Rhaegar was tall and lithe, but strong. His arms banded Ned’s torso, and Ned couldn’t help but fist his own hands in the rich silk of Rhaegar’s tunic, mewling in pleasure as Rhaegar teased his mouth open. 

“My Prince,” Ned breathed when they parted, looking wide eyed up at Rhaegar. 

“Have I stolen your first kiss?” Rhaegar asked softly, not at all unkindly, and Ned felt his cheeks heat once more. “Ah, I have,” Rhaegar murmured, easily able to see the colour in Ned’s face beneath the bright silvery light of the moon. “I would steal your other firsts as well, if you were willing.” Ned hesitated, then nodded. 

“I think you must be a wildling,” Ned murmured as he followed Rhaegar through the warren of corridors in the ruin of Harrenhal.

“A wildling?” Rhaegar said with a smile, raising a single eyebrow at Ned. Ned flushed. 

“It - it is their way, when they see a woman they wish as their wife. They steal her away. If the spearwife does not wish for a husband, she fights him to retain her honour,” Ned explained, and Rhaegar laughed softly for a moment before seeing the worry on Ned’s face. 

“I do not seek to dishonour you,” Rhaegar said firmly, all laughter fleeing his beautiful face. “I have never been so intrigued by someone in my life. By reputation, you are a man carved of ice, while in all three of your siblings, passion runs wild. You are certainly as reserved as they say, and chaste, and yet you allow me to kiss you and steal you away.”

“No one has ever wanted me, my Prince,” Ned said with quiet surety and then shrugged. “You are the first to touch my face or hand save my family. You have taken interest in me, when few do. How could I not love you? And - and besides you are - you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen.” It was said with a quiet intensity, and although Rhaegar was used to compliments, he had never felt one so deeply. 

“I want you,” Rhaegar said fiercely, his passion, already roused, burning even hotter. It was true that the enigma was what first drew Rhaegar, but Ned clearly believed that he was unwanted, and Rhaegar wanted more than anything to convince the young lord otherwise. 

“I believe you,” Ned said quietly. “Although it feels rather like I’m dreaming in truth.” Rhaegar surged forward to embrace Ned again and kiss him deeply. Again Ned melted like ice before dragonfire, letting the Prince lead. While he had heard at length how wonderful kissing and other intimacies could be, Ned had never quite understood, having never received any physical intimacy himself. In truth, he had received little intimacy of any sort, content enough to be pulled in the wake of his wild brother when he was a boy, and his wild foster brother as a youth. 

“I am afraid that I may never be content to let you go,” Rhaegar breathed as they parted, and Ned flushed. 

“Your wife -” Ned started, then blanched, his ardour draining precipitously. “Your _wife_ ,” he remembered weakly, and pulled away, his legs turning to water beneath him. Rhaegar caught Ned up as Ned stumbled, and all but carried him to the bed. 

“Peace, she knows I intend to seduce you. Who do you think taught me the pleasure of other men, save the Dornish? My goodbrother Oberyn was the first man I bedded,” Rhaegar said gently. “She knows I bed with other men, and she has lovers of her own. She prefers this in truth, as she is with child and unwilling to suffer my attentions.” 

“Oh,” Ned breathed, his cheeks flushing again as he imagined Rhaegar and the handsome Prince Oberyn of Dorne together. Rhaegar chuckled, a soft, warm sound, and then leaned down, kissing Ned softly. 

“We shall go no further than you desire Eddard,” Rhaegar promised, and Ned’s heart fluttered. He rarely heard his full name any more, save when he was being formally introduced, and never had he heard it pronounced so gently. It became a caress in Rhaegar’s mouth. 

“I don’t even know what I desire,” Ned admitted softly. “As you rightly guessed, I have never before been kissed, nor known a lover’s touch.”

“Let me show you,” Rhaegar said, and it was neither a plea nor a demand, but a throaty request. Ned hesitated a moment, then nodded. Rhaegar smiled, a soft, fond expression that made Ned’s heart twist like a trout on a hook. Gently the Prince reached out, and raised one of Ned’s hands in both of his. Rhaegar kissed Ned’s perpetually bruised knuckles, then the calloused palm of his broad hand. He kissed Ned’s wrist, flickering his tongue over the racing pulse that pounded there, then gently unfastened Ned’s cuff. 

Slowly Rhaegar stripped Ned of his finery, all in the northern fashion, wool and linen and leather. Rhaegar’s bowed mouth followed his deft hands, kissing Ned everywhere, sucking hot bruises into his upper arms and chest, hiding his lovemarks among the myriad bruises common to all men who trained in the arts of war. Ned felt a little as if he were dreaming. Rhaegar was so very beautiful, almost otherworldly, and Ned couldn’t help but think this was unreal, and far too good for him. 

The feeling of being in a dream shattered as Rhaegar’s hot tongue swept up Ned’s cock from root to tip. While Ned had manually serviced himself, it was always a rather perfunctory matter, relieving stress and tension, or releasing adrenaline. He had admired other men in the training yard, but none of them had moved him as Rhaegar did, and he never would have permitted any of them to kiss him or touch him as Rhaegar did. 

Rhaegar pulled away with a rather mischievous smile, and stood, quickly divesting himself of his silken finery. The low light of the dying fire turned Rhaegar’s pale body into a golden idol, and Ned was struck again by the Prince’s beauty. How could such a man desire him, Ned couldn’t help but wonder. He was nothing special. He was quiet and dour, not one for carousing or japing. He’d been told more than once he had no sense of humour at all, and a face like a stone. 

“My Prince,” Ned breathed, certain his wonder was carried in his tone. For it truly was a wonder, that this beautiful prince might desire him, might choose to lay with him. Rhaegar tugged at the ribbon that held his long silvery hair in its neat queue, and the moonlit locks tumbled over his shoulders. He perched, lithe and beautiful on the side of the bed, leaning down to kiss Ned once more. 

Ned propped himself up on one elbow, his other hand reaching out. He rubbed the smooth skin of Rhaegar’s arm and shoulder, marveling at the silken heat of the Silver Prince. They kissed deeply, and Ned carefully fisted Rhaegar’s cornsilk hair at the nape of his neck. Rhaegar moaned as his hair was gently tugged, and he shifted, straddling Ned’s waist and rubbing against him gently. Ned bucked up with a gasp, his hand in Rhaegar’s hair tugging a bit harder, his other hand clasping tight on Rhaegar’s knee. Rhaegar moaned, arching his back as he ground against Ned more insistently. 

“There is oil beneath the pillow,” Rhaegar gasped out, feeling the leaking head of Ned’s cock rub against his buttocks. Ned squeezed Rhaegar’s muscular thigh, but complied with the implied request. Rhaegar smiled when the small bottle was pressed into his grasp, and spilled a goodly amount over his hands. Reaching behind himself, Rhaegar gloved Ned’s cock, and Ned bucked up under him with a startled cry. Wide dark eyes stared up at Rhaegar, and Rhaegar grinned broadly.

Kneeling up, Rhaegar rubbed his oily fingers across his puckered anus. It was always more difficult to prepare himself, but Ned was a complete innocent, and Rhaegar very much wanted to watch the younger man lose the last shreds of his vaunted control. So he fingered himself open, knowing that the motions of his hands were bumping against Ned’s erection and teasing the northman to greater and greater heights of arousal. 

Ned gasped as Rhaegar’s hand engulfed him again, and then, gods. Rhaegar shifted back, violet eyes glittering like amethysts in the firelight. There was pressure, and then Ned was bucking up sharply, his hands clasping tight on Rhaegar’s narrow hips. Rhaegar cried out, his lean body arching with pleasure as he impaled himself. Ned whimpered as Rhaegar came to rest against him, the Prince’s body engulfing Ned’s erection in unbearable heat and tightness. 

“My Prince,” Ned gasped, his hips stuttering upward. 

“Eddard,” Rhaegar gasped, and rolled his hips. He shifted a bit, then began to raise and lower himself easily, his muscular horseman’s thighs allowing him to ride Ned at a posting trot. Ned groaned, running his hands absently over Rhaegar’s lithely muscled form. Ned shifted as well, bending his knees up so he could brace his feet and thrust up into Rhaegar. The Prince moaned at that, tossing his head. 

“Beautiful,” Ned breathed, watching the firelight paint warmth across Rhaegar’s pale skin. “So beautiful my Prince.” Rhaegar smiled, touched once more by the compliment. It was one he heard frequently, but Ned’s tone was almost awed, his grey eyes dark as night, almost worshipful. Rhaegar shifted again, then cried out, grinding down as he found the perfect angle. 

“There,” Rhaegar gasped. “Oh, there, harder,” he demanded, writhing against Ned. Ned let out a low growl, his big hands cupping Rhaegar’s buttocks and pulling him open as Ned thrust up. Rhaegar practically squealed as Ned’s blunt cockhead thrust directly against Rhaegar’s prostate. It was a hard, fast fuck from there, Ned thrusting up roughly, Rhaegar riding Ned hard. 

Nearly trembling with pleasure, Rhaegar fisted his cock roughly in time with Ned’s thrusts. It didn’t take long for their rising ecstasy to peak, and Rhaegar came with a soft cry, painting Ned’s muscular chest with his seed. Ned groaned deeply, his hips stuttering up more rapidly, all rhythm failing him as Rhaegar clenched around him in orgasm. Ned cursed in the Old Tongue, and then he was coming as well, clutching the Prince close as he came. 

“Gods be good,” Ned breathed when he could form coherent thought again. Gently he cradled Rhaegar against his chest, a small part of himself inordinately proud that he’d so thoroughly pleasured the beautiful Prince. Rhaegar lay trembling against Ned, his heart racing. He had never felt so thoroughly ravished by a lover, not even by some of the very experienced Dornishmen he’d taken to his bed. 

“Would it be taken amiss if I brought you into my household in some fashion?” Rhaegar asked after a while. He was still curled over Ned, his legs splayed around Ned’s waist. Ned’s thick, strong arms cradled Rhaegar, and he felt extraordinarily well loved. 

“I am but a second son my Prince,” Ned said warmly. “I serve at your pleasure.” Rhaegar simply smiled at that, agile mind already beginning to plan.


End file.
